


Corpse Driver

by Mask



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Detailed but not Graphic Descriptions, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Hallucinations, Minor Original Character(s), Nausea, Penthouse Parties, Recreational Drug Use, at death's door, drug overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-22 01:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14297751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mask/pseuds/Mask
Summary: Pariston likes to push himself to his limits, but every now and again, he likes to push more than even he can withstand. One night, he gives in and feels himself break.





	Corpse Driver

**Author's Note:**

> The person who requested this actually popped up in my inbox after two years. It was a great surprise, and I loved writing this!

Pariston wasn’t a party-person or a clubber in the average sense of the word. He didn’t go to a scene with the intent to lose himself to the throbbing music in the midst of a gyrating crowd. It just wasn’t his way. He did, however, have different ways of losing himself. He preferred a more reckless and hedonistic indulgence where light had colour and music had a taste. He wasn’t really picky with the hows of it all or the whos of his company, but in it all, he found a pattern and a company to tickle his basest fancies.

Over the course of two years, Pariston reveled in the literally intoxicating world of party drugs. Some he knew already, some he knew _very_ well, and others he had never heard of before. Regardless of how well-versed he was, his world expanded in smokes and spectrums. His group fluctuated and grew and shrank in an ever-changing crowd of faces, and this—ah, yes, this—was where he shone the brightest. This was his preferred scene. With the different faces came different drugs and _vastly_ different experiences. Pariston was never one to let his vices get to him or become public if he didn’t want them to, but he always wondered what it would be like to be consumed.

His idle wondering became a fascination, which soon became an urge. And Pariston was never one to turn down his own compulsions, even and especially when he knew that he should.

The opportunity to act finally presented itself at a penthouse party. It was all a typical fair: packed setting, stereos playing music, drinks, and such. Even though the music was turned down to be more atmospheric than distracting, Pariston could tell that the beats were lively and entertaining. Looking around, he realized that he was acquainted with more than a few people here, and it wasn’t long after this realization that he was swarmed by smiling faces, grasping hands, and numerous questions. Eager propositions to join this person or that group were thrown up in Pariston’s face almost rapid fire. The answer, in light of all these lively offers, was always the same from Pariston:

     “If you’re doing something interesting, I’ll be happy to join you!”

     And they’d reply in kind, “And what, dear Pariston, counts as ‘interesting?’”

A disappointing answer but one he was expecting. He smiled to the ones who couldn’t properly pass his test – if it could even be called one! – and made his way over to a sectional couch near the sliding glass door. He threw his arm over the back of the couch, propped up his right ankle on his left knee, and set to people watching. In spite of how eager people were before to talk with him, no one was approaching him now. He caught a few people glancing his way, of course, but there was no telling what they were thinking.

 _‘First they were flocking around me like a gaggle of geese, and now, I’m here all by myself!’_ he thought with a growing smile. People were so odd. He propped his head up with one hand and a contented smile on his face. When a group of people finally joined him, they were carrying their own drinks and in the midst of hearty laughter. A man with dark purple, coiffed hair – someone Pariston knew but never by name – handed over a drink to Pariston without a single word. The drink was accepted with a nod and a smile. Pariston took a long sip from his glass. The liquor was clear but strong, and its punch was immediate. It tasted like rubbing alcohol going down, and his sinuses cleared up almost immediately. Ah, this was going to be a good night.

More drinks came his way as the hours passed, and some people in the group were replaced with others. Things were progressing rather typically for Pariston. He drank; he laughed; he let people lean against him for whatever reason they saw fit. At one point, a hand smoothed across his chest, and adoring fingers curled through his hair. He wasn’t bothered, but he didn’t acknowledge it either. Heavens knew he didn’t care about the people fondling him anyway.

     “How about another round?” the purple-haired man asked the group.

The responses were all declines, mostly playful boos and hisses and people snuggling up closer to whoever was near them. Whoever was clinging to Pariston nuzzled up to him. Their body fragrance smelled nice. Subtle. Pariston himself didn’t give an answer one way or the other. He had finished the drink he had, and his entire body felt warm, his blood on fire. His vision swam a little every time he turned his head. His stomach felt heavy and unsettled. Not the most pleasant effect he had ever experienced from a spiked drink, but it was definitely an interesting one. He catalogued it in his mind. The purple-haired man leaned towards Pariston and gently nudged him with his elbow.

     “What about you, friend?”

     Pariston huffed a laugh and raised his drink towards the light. “None for me.”

His glass was completely empty save the faint grainy remnants that remained at the bottom. Pariston raised his brows and moved to dip his index finger inside. He swiped up the as much of the remnants as he could before licking his finger. There was a tingle on the tip of his tongue, but overall, there was just a chalky aftertaste. He looked over to the man, who was watching him closely.

     “Can’t afford to waste even the littlest bit, right?” Pariston said jovially.

Something lit up in the man’s gaze. With the drugged alcohol making its way through his system, it was hard to tell exactly what that “something” was. The man laughed gently and nodded his head. He reached over to pat Pariston amicably on the leg.

     “Right,” he agreed. “Of course! We need to savour a good time.”

Pariston grinned and leaned forward to set his glass on the square table in front of the sectional. Oof… Okay, that kind of movement wasn’t the best. It made his stomach upset, and there was a telltale acridness in his throat. He had a complicated relationship with vomiting, often battling himself whether or not he wanted to go through it. The beginning steps of vomiting were always suffering, but the aftermath always felt great. It was a tough call.

He sat back against the couch, only marginally less composed than he was before. Only those with a keen eye would notice, and there didn’t seem to be any takers in that department. He crossed his left leg over his right now and laced his fingers over his knee. A couple got up from the couch. One person was sloppy drunk, and the other was well on their way. Pariston smirked. It was interesting to watch other people lose their composure; he could only wonder how he looked around now.

He was trying his best not to sink into the couch. The longer the drug sat in his system, the less connected he felt with the world around him. It felt like he was floating slowly out of his body. The nausea and the disconnection increased with each passing moment. There was a taste on his tongue that he could only describe as water mixed with cough syrup. It was faint in the back of his throat but wholly unpleasant. Pariston let his eyes fall closed; his lids were already so heavy. It probably wouldn’t do for him to fall asleep here. Not really because of who was around but because of how nauseous he still felt. Honestly, he couldn’t be bothered to get up and try to make it to the bathroom. Though… He opened his eyes slightly and looked out towards the partying crowd.

 _…the challenge to try was awfully tempting_. Oh, how humiliating it would be if he were to fail~

He uncrossed his legs and made to stand. As he did, a hand curled around the back of his arm. The grab was gentle, but it was enough to make Pariston wobble a little. He let out a slow breath through his nose before looking over towards the person who grabbed him. Ah! It was that man. He was still here? How curious. After the minutest tug downward, Pariston allowed himself to be pulled back to the couch. In spite of the heaviness in his gaze, the man seemed rather composed, and Pariston knew that he had his fair share of drinks tonight. Skimming over the sectional, it was clear that he and the man were the only ones left.

He couldn’t even ponder how long they had been alone together or, at the very least, he had his eyes closed for. He wasn’t exactly the most reliable judge right now.

As his mind briefly wandered, the hand on his arm slid downward. The trailing fingers moved in such an intimate way that it made Pariston’s skin crawl. The man turned to face Pariston. He didn’t take his hand back. Pariston didn’t tell him to either.

     “You look like you were having a good time,” the man said. There was a smile on his face, but the true delight was in the way his voice.

     “I would say so,” Pariston replied. He turned more to face his companion. There was still the disorientating lightheadedness, but he took it with grace. “But, I think I might have missed out on whatever was going on with the group.”

     The man laughed and flicked his free hand dismissively towards the other end of the couch. “As if anything good can come from conversing with grubby fingered booze hounds.” With a shake of his head, he finally pulled his hand away from Pariston. “Only some of them are tolerable, and that’s after a few rounds of drinks.”

     “Speaking of drinks…” It took Pariston a moment to collect his thoughts. “That last one was…?”

     “If I say it was a concoction of mine, I feel as if I’m taking credit, and god knows I can’t compete with a bartender’s work. Let’s just say I like to add an extra kick whenever I can.”

     Pariston nodded slowly, almost enjoying the odd way his surroundings shifted. “Of course.”

They shared an amicable smile as a silence settled between them. Pariston wasn’t sure how he felt in this moment. Sitting down wasn’t much of an indicator; he would have to get up soon. The man looked away from Pariston for a moment before biting down on his lip with a mischievous smile.

     “I’ve come up with something special the past few weeks, and _I_ think you just might like it.”

     “You think so, hm?” Pariston’s words left him like a purr. He was slowly coming back to himself, but he still had to fight through the sluggishness.

     “I do. Of course, questions, comments, and concerns are appreciated.”

Pariston chuckled and sat up a bit straighter. The man reached into his blazer and removed a black, palm sized, velvet drawstring pouch. Outside of its immediate appearance, there was nothing else of note about the pouch, but the man handed it over as if it was an item of great import. The slide of velvet against skin tickled Pariston, but he did well to keep himself from reacting to it. The man curled Pariston’s fingers over the pouch before patting his hand.

     “There are eight pills in there, and I know for a fact that taking six of them at once is a bad item—all of them, even more so. There was an… accident during the testing phase that’s better left unrepeated.”

     “Oh?” Pariston looked to the bag now. “And how do you know I can be trusted not to make such a mistake?”

     “Because you’re one of the few people who can take a spiked drink with the utmost grace.” The man grinned now, unable to help himself. “And in the time we’ve scantly spent together, you haven’t become strung out on some of the stuff I’ve given you.”

     Pariston drew his hand back to give the bag a little toss. “And this is my reward?”

     “The highest I can give you!”

     “Oho~! I guess I’ll have to savour these then.”

Even in saying this, Pariston opened up the little bag and took out one of the pills. He pinched it between his thumb and forefingers, and just from what he could tell through touch alone, the pill was small but _thick_. A bit surprising, but without a moment of hesitation, he placed the drug onto his tongue. His companion watched him in awe before taking one of the half-filled glasses off the table. He offered it out to Pariston, who took it. They held each other’s gaze, and Pariston knocked the glass back without a moment’s hesitation.

The pill was a lump in Pariston’s throat going down, but down it went. He drew the glass away with a dramatic “Ah!” to punctuate it. The purple-haired man gasped softly.

     “You absolute madman,” he whispered in awe.

     “Not mad, just inquisitive,” Pariston clarified confidently.

This time the effect of the drug hit him instantly, and it was worse than anything he’s felt before. He wasn’t even sure that he had the proper words to describe it. He blinked, and the vision was fuzzy around the edges. Everything in his peripherals wavered dangerously. The glass trembled in his hand, and Pariston moved his other hand to the couch as nonchalantly as he could to find some stability. The man leaned into Pariston’s space so their shoulders touched. The connecting point was burning hot, and Pariston almost wanted to pull away. Strangely, he didn’t think he had the strength.

Every nerve was raw and open. His head was already a mess, but now, his body felt awake as if nen was flooding his entire body. For all that he knew, it probably was. The idea made his eyebrows shoot up, and he looked over to the man leaning against him.

     “These are…”

     “Potent,” the man said, “and because you are one of the most fascinating people I’ve met, I’m warning you not to take too many.” He leaned his head back slightly to look at Pariston. “I guarantee I wouldn’t stress it as heavily for anybody else.”

Pariston huffed a laugh, but the action forced more air out of him than he expected. He licked his lips, and he was vaguely aware now that his whole body was trembling, especially the tips of his fingers. The spiked drink was probably enhancing the drug’s potency as well. Fire leisurely licked along the back of Pariston’s hand. He looked down and saw the man touching him once again. A single idle stroke going down from Pariston’s wrist, over his knuckles, and to his fingers.

The fire tickled a little. Pariston licked his dry mouth and took another drink, finishing off all that was in his glass. His fingers were trembling so much that he forcefully tightened his hold on the glass’ stem. He was a bit surprised it didn’t crack under the force.

     “It’s quite the blend, isn’t it?” the man asked. He reached for the glass Pariston held and sat up. His voice came in waves, and each word had a smooth texture against Pariston’s rattling mind. “Perhaps it might be a bit overwhelming with this drink, but I can’t say I actually expected you to drink from it.”

     “Why not live dangerously?” Pariston said with a shaky smile.

     The man looked over to him, took in his expression, and returned the smile. “Why not? I trust you’ll be staying for the rest of the party?”

More words came to Pariston’s mind, but he wasn’t able to get a single one out. Instead, he kept himself as composed as he could before merely shaking his head. That reaction should suffice enough. And it did. That or the man accompanying him was rather sympathetic. Either way, it earned Pariston a pat on the leg.

     “Will you be fine on your own?”

     Pariston nodded and crossed one leg over the other. _‘I’ll manage,’_ he thought, hoping to convey that sentiment through his movements.

     “Very well. I look forward to seeing you again. I want to hear the end results of your… trip.” The man chuckled before standing up. Too many replies jumped into Pariston’s mind. It was a shame he could say a single one.

The purple-haired man grabbed Pariston’s other glass as he departed the sectional. Pariston watched him go and felt comfortable enough to sink back against the couch. He placed his forehead in the palm of his hand as he waited out the side effects. He didn’t want the high to go away entirely. He just needed to be well _enough_ to get out of here. Waiting was agony not because he was in pain, but because he was basking in anticipation. This drug was the real deal. He already knew how deeply the spiked drink affected him, but the drug itself was outshining that. He wanted to know how it would be on its own without that influence. Oh, how he wished he was in his hotel room right now.

He sat there for an untold amount of time. Laughter sounded off to his left and it crested over him like a cold wave. It sounded close, but who knows if that was true. He took in a deep breath before taking stock of his situation. The trembling in his hands stopped, and he didn’t feel like there was fire urgently running through his veins. Not urgently, anyway. After taking in another deep breath, Pariston got it in his mind to finally stand up. He laughed weakly at himself. _‘How daring of me,’_ he thought as he drew his hand away from his face.

When he came to his feet, his world shifted suddenly. He extended his hand backwards for the couch just in case. After a couple of moments, he realized that he wasn’t going to topple over. Shame, he might have gotten a good laugh out of that. He brought his hands back to himself and adjusted the suit on his body. He looked for the velvet bag before carefully picking it, pulling the drawstrings closed, and sealing the bag closed. He put it in his inside breast pocket. Well. His night was still young! Excitement was ahead! He was feeling a bit better now, but that wasn’t saying much. And depending on how things went, he might actually ask for the man’s name next time they saw each other. _Maybe_. Pariston left the sectional couch behind and made his way to the elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor and reached out for the wall-mounted bar to his right.

 _‘My, my,’_ he thought. _‘I wonder what’s going to happen now. Eight pills. He told me not to take them all at once, but…’_ Pariston brought a hand over his heart, and he could ever so faintly feel the shape of the pouch under his palm.

Very exciting indeed.

The elevator ride was hell on his senses. He felt as if the floor was going to drop from under his feet, or maybe like he was going to float away. Regardless of how ridiculous either possibility was, his fingers tightened around the bar. This was all too much. Pariston always had a wild imagination, and while drugged, that fact only doubled. It was a delightfully double-edged sword. He could imagine all the ways this little adventure of his could go right (or wrong, depending on the perspective here).

He glanced up at the floor indicator above the door. Eighth floor—he couldn’t wait to call a cab! With his free hand, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and as he scheduled a ride, he thought about if Ging were here. Ah, the other man would _hate_ the all-too-pleased smile on Pariston’s face right now.

Pariston’s eyes lit up immediately. _Ging_. As always, he was the missing element in all of this. The vagabond, true to his nature, was nearly impossible to get ahold of on a good day. His schedule, if there was such a thing, was massively unpredictable, but he was always worth the gamble. After his call, Pariston navigated through his messages to try and find Ging’s name. Or whatever nickname it was Pariston had given him this time around. Variety was the spice of life after all.

Though to be honest, with the way Ging has fallen off the map these days, Pariston would be surprised to get a reply at all. He vaguely scrolled through their message thread, reading all of the pointless drivel and incriminating photos he had sent Ging’s way. Apparently, the last message to have a blue “read” checkmark next to it was sent over a month ago. Twenty-nine messages from Pariston without a single response from Ging laid between now and then. Well, no point in stopping now!

_I know you’re probably busy finding a new mud hole to socialize in, but I have an exciting endeavor for us both!_

_If you’ve time to accompany me on the phone, I’d be happy to have you._

Pariston ran over the text once, twice, and then sent it off with a nod of his head. That should get the point across. At the very least, it might earn him an uninterested comment. Regardless, a reply would be a win, regardless of its form. The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, and Pariston took in a deep breath. “Onward then,” he said to himself as he tucked his phone into his breast pocket. He left the elevator with some pep in his step and a proud smile on his face.

 

The high Pariston got from the penthouse party had turned into a manageable buzz. He wasn’t trembling incessantly now, and his movements felt a lot smoother. He went straight to his room without a moment’s hesitation. Pariston’s right hand went up over his heart, and he ran his fingers over the shape of the velvet bag hidden in his blazer. His hotel room door clicked closed behind him, and he wasted no time in toeing off his shoes.

Pariston pulled the bag out of his pocket. He was excited to get this started with. Even though he had been doing this for a while, he relished any new experience that came his way. The drug scene, as much as he experienced it, often suffered from repetition.

He briefly wondered about getting something to drink. Alcohol was always his method of dangerous intoxication, but he was sure he had enough alcohol in his system to stock a bar. Besides, he was curious as to how the alcohol would react on its own. He walked over to the mini bar and pulled out two bottles of water before going to climb onto the bed. He uncapped one of the bottles and took a sip. God, his mouth was so dry. He licked his lips for good measure before taking another sip.

Afterward, he pulled out one of the pills from the velvet bag. Now that he was in a well-lit area, he could see the pill better. It was small and mint green with darker flecks of colour. Just as he suspected before, the pills were small, circular, and thick. The one he had now had to be at least half an inch _thick_. He set it on his tongue without further introspection, knocked back a mouthful of water, and swallowed. The taste in his mouth was still medicinal and unpleasant, but he tried not to think about it too much.

He took another swig of water, and as he brought the bottle down, he felt the drug kicking in. The very tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet began to tingle. His stomach began to tighten to the point of being painful. Pariston’s grip weakened, and he dropped his phone onto the bed sheets with a muted thud. He was familiar with many poisons, but this didn’t taste or feel like anything he was familiar with. He let out a pained laugh as sweat broke out along his hairline. If this was a ploy to kill him, though, this was absolutely a way to do it.

Pariston was slowly folding over the bottle of water and the pill bag nestled against his groin. He slowly wiggled his fingers for some semblance of control as the pain in his gut briefly worsened. Out there somewhere was someone who wished for him to die a slow, agonizing death. He wondered if they were getting their wish now. More sweat broke out near his temples, under his chin, and along the nape of his neck. The fingers of his left hand stopped frozen in some odd position. Was this…?

The abdominal pain lessened and was replaced with heat that surged urgently through his veins. Suddenly, every nerve in his body had needlelike pain; the worst of it was along his jaw leading up towards his ears. It felt like needles in a cloud of static. Pariston rode out this all-consuming displeasure, and as he did, his vision was unclear. He wasn’t here in this room anymore; he was outside of his body in some parallel plane, watching himself suffer. God, would this death be ironic or just well-expected? Flip a coin—there was no losing either way.

When Pariston was able to come back to himself, he felt all too warm. He removed his blazer, quickly pulled off his turquoise tie, and began working on the buttons of his shirt. Too warm— _too, too damn warm_. He shook his head, and he swore it felt like his brain was sliding. He laughed at such a preposterous thought. Not possible, not at all! But _god_ , what if, right? He shook his head again, relishing in the idea of his mind loosely connected and sliding around like a specimen in a jar. How grotesque.

_How perfect for someone like him._

He shoved his tie and blazer off the bed. His shirt was unbuttoned now, but he kept it on. He felt like he was cooler, but it wasn’t enough! He brought the bottle of water up to his head and rubbed it against his feverish skin. He stared at the world through his lashes. He could barely take in his surroundings. The hazy chromatic dots dancing in his vision had all of his attention. It didn’t help that it felt like his brain shot straight to his stomach. Were he a bit more aware, he would have noticed that the pain was gone in most areas and leaving in others.

He leaned back against the bed suddenly and cracked his head on the headboard. Pain bloomed throughout his head. His stomach lurched immediately. Pariston moved his hand to his neck as he felt vomit cascade up to his throat. He managed to keep it down but with a sardonic smile. _‘Nausea!’_ he found himself thinking. _‘The theme of the night!’_ He would have laughed if he thought he had the power.

It felt like his spirit was being separated from his body as if someone was pulling cotton. Time swam around him in this unknown space, and he wasn’t sure how long he rode out the effects of the drug for. When the pain returned with all of its stinging-burning-cramping fury, Pariston reached for another pill. He was almost surprised by how quickly the side effects began to curb, and in about half the time as before, the high set in once again. Pariston licked his lips and took another swig of water.

He stripped off his button down shirt at long last. He was starting to sweat through it anyway. Maybe it would be best to lose his pants too, and ah, the idea set him on a completely different train of thought. He reflected on all of his past partners and hook up locations. What would sex be like like this? Would it be fun? A sensory overload? A complete mess? His hand fumbled as he reached out for another pill. It was only when he tried to swallow down the mouthful of drugs and water did he realize he accidentally grabbed two. Ah well!

Ah… _Well_ …

Oh no. The heat threatened to devour him from within, and now, his vision was swimming to a point where he could hardly make heads or tails of anything. Oh god… His phone vibrated on the bed. He scanned the bed for it, but everything was a monochromatic blur of nonsense.

     “You’re such an idiot,” came an echoing voice.

Pariston lifted his head slightly from the sheets and turned towards the voice. An all too familiar mouth scowled at him. He was sure that there would have been disgust in Ging’s eyes if he had any eyes. The scarf around his neck strained at the ends as if it was reaching out for Pariston. Would it choke him to death? Snuff the life from his sweaty, pain wracked body? It could sure as hell try. Pariston felt close to god right now. He dropped his head back to the covers.

     “You just can’t help but make a mess, can you?” This Ging criticized. Pariston felt fingers in his hair, and next thing he knew, he was slipping off the bed. He hit the floor with his whole body; the covers fell on top of him and both bottles of water cracked him across the forehead. “Moron,” said the voice now, closer this time. “Are you proud of yourself?”

Through the all too real pain blooming through his head, Pariston rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. He stared up at this Ging whose features kept changing and blurring with every passing second. Pariston licked his lips. “V-very…” Two syllables, and they were the hardest thing in the world to say. His tongue felt like lead, his body heavier so. He stared up at this version of Ging until his eyes finally decided to close. It was hard for him to keep his eyes open, but there wasn’t much for him to see anyway. His world was reduced to darkness and screaming nerves. If he had the strength, he might have even smiled.

Even though he knew Ging wasn’t with him, he was comforted by the illusion that watched him hurl himself indulgently over the edge. His reckless curiosity was sufficiently quenched.


End file.
